


Honor thy king

by Black_Night_Sister



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26408641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Night_Sister/pseuds/Black_Night_Sister
Summary: King Robert Baratheon comes to Winterfell, where he entreats his friend Ned Stark to let him bed his daughter.
Relationships: Robert Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark/Original Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	Honor thy king

**Author's Note:**

> For the purpose of this story Sansa is 18 - because dark, twisted fantasies are all nice and dandy but not when they involve minors. This is a rape story, with some extremely dubious consent thrown into the mix, so if that's not your thing I sugest you turn back now.

Sansa doesn’t really have time to think much about things, doesn’t have time to question them, before she’s standing outside the chamber doors, his voice bidding her to enter.

She steps through the threshold carefully, stopping just inside to let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting. King Robert stands in front of her, his presence looming in the center of the room and she has the sudden urge to flee.

“Close the door child.”

She shivers at the word. Child. If that’s really how he sees her, how can he do this? His friend’s daughter?

Her father and the king were friends, once. She supposes they’re not anymore though. The king must be threatening her father somehow, and that’s not what friends do. It’s the only explanation she can come up with. Why else would her father barter his own daughter if not for some kind of death threat?

She walks to the center of the room with the king’s eyes on her. He makes no effort to conceal the hunger in his gaze as he lets his eyes sweep over her body. She can almost feel it, over the swell of her breasts, the widening of her hips, until they settle at the juncture of her legs. She’s never been more grateful for the fullness of her skirts, concealing that spot from him.

He disagrees with that, obviously. Sansa doesn’t know what to expect from this but she is startled when he makes no pretenses over what they’re here for, over what he has no doubt threatened her father to get.

“Take off your dress,” he says, casually, his body turning towards the table to pour himself a cup of wine. When he turns back around Sansa is still frozen to the spot, her eyes wildly looking at him while a firm resolution settles over her chest.

If he wants this to happen he will have to take it by force. She will not surrender to him, will not give herself away like a common whore, undressing in front of a man who is not her husband.

He seems to sense her resolve and chuckles before taking a gulp of his wine. “I can call the guards, if you’d prefer. I’m sure they’ll enjoy tearing that dress off of you. Their hands tend to wander a bit to places they’re not supposed to but…” he trails off, lets his eyes roam over her body once more, “who can blame them really?” He lifts his head towards the door and Sansa realizes he’s not making idle threats. This king, her father’s childhood friend, will have no qualms calling his guards to strip her of her clothes, will have no problems if they touch her as inappropriately as he wants to do himself.

She shivers slightly as she shakes her head, her hands already moving to the laces of her dress. Her mother picked it out, one of only a few dresses she owns that laces up the sides. In hindsight, Sansa wonders if her mother knows, if she already knew this morning when she urged Sansa to pick this dress.

The heavy wool falls down at her feet and Sansa steps out of it, standing there in front of the king in only her thin shift. He moves forward, his wine goblet forgotten for the moment as he comes to stand in front of her.

“Open your shift,” he orders, and her fingers are shaking as she unties the laces. His hands move up, the tips of his fingers brushing against her collarbone when he pushes the side of her garment away and suddenly her breasts are bare to his hungry gaze.

She can see his eyes darkening before he moves, his hands grabbing her teats as though he’s weighing them, massaging the soft skin. His fingers rub against her nipples and, despite feeling absolutely mortified, she can’t stop the gasp that falls from her lips.

He smiles at that, a sardonic move of his lips, as he uses his thumb and forefinger to lightly pinch her nipples. “You like it.” It’s not a question but Sansa feels compelled to answer him, to deny it as much as she can.

“No, I don’t.”

He scoffs, his fingers pulling on the hardened nubs until she whimpers before he begins to rub the pads of his fingers over the peaks. One of his hands moves down her front and before she realizes his intent, he has it between her legs, cupping her most private place. “I guess you don’t like this either.”

Sansa closes her eyes as he continues to rub her. She can feel a tightening in her belly and she can’t help it when her hips stutter slightly against his palm. The king scoffs again just as a light knock on the door causes Sansa to open her eyes.

“Enter,” he bellows out and Sansa hears the door click open. The king lets go of her then and her hands fly up to the top of her shift, intent on covering herself just as she hears the hesitant steps of a cupbearer enter the room.

“Your wine Your Grace,” he says, just as the king’s hands grab her wrists and pull her hands back down to her sides.

The cupbearer moves to the table and Robert follows after him, like a dog after a bone. Sansa looks up through her lashes. She has managed to keep her back mostly turned and the cupbearer seems intent on pouring wine to the king but she can see the way his eyes dart towards her, how his gaze feasts upon the sides of her breasts that she cannot conceal. And when he finishes pouring the wine he turns to face her fully, lets his eyes wander over her body before he firmly settles them on her chest. It makes her skin crawl, but not as much as the king’s words.

“Sit on the edge of the bed.”

Sansa panics, her eyes flying up to meet with the king’s. If she does what he’s asking – what he’s commanding – she will be completely exposed to the servant, and yet she cannot do otherwise. Slowly she moves towards the bed, and takes a big breath before she turns to sit as she was told.

The silence is almost deafening. There’s no movement, no rustling or crackling and Sansa eventually lifts her eyes from the floor. Years of instilled courtesies have ingrained in her the need to sit with her back straight and she suddenly realizes what it means at this moment – with her shift undone and her teats bare, proudly pushed forward in the direction of the two men.

Robert sits down in a chair, wine goblet in hand as he seems to be evaluating her. He keeps his gaze on her even as he directs his words to the servant.

“She’s a maiden, I believe,” and part of Sansa feels indignant that he would doubt that, even as she sits here with two men looking at her naked body, “and I don’t wish to hurt my friend’s daughter.” He licks his lips and the servant does the same and Sansa shivers as she wonders what he’s doing. “Prepare her for me,” he finishes, and the servant moves with a wicked grin.

Sansa wants to protest, she wants to deny this, this abomination that her father certainly hasn’t agreed to, but a voice in the back of her mind silences her. What does she know about what her father has agreed to? Hadn’t he given leave to his friend bedding his daughter?

The servant comes to stand in front of her and his hands move to her teats. He pinches and squeezes her nipples, plays with them before he uses the pad of his fingers to rub them and Sansa suddenly moans.

The servant smirks and she hears Robert’s laughter behind him. “She likes that, the little wanton thing. See what else she likes.”

The servant grabs the hem of her shift and pushes it upwards, until it is pooled around her waist. His fingers make quick work of the laces of her smallclothes and he kneels in front of her as he pushes them down her legs. His hands grab her ankles then and he uses his grip to spread her legs open. It’s obscene, really, the way he has just bared her most private place, the way he licks his lips as he looks at her there. And then he moves slightly to the side so the king can see her too.

“A true redhead,” Robert laughs and the servant smiles as well as he keeps a hand over her thigh to prevent her from closing her legs. “Spread her open,” he adds, and Sansa doesn’t really know what he means before the servant moves his hand to her cunt. His fingers comb through the wiry curls before they touch her slit and Sansa gasps, a shiver coursing through her spine as he uses his fingers to spread open the lips of her cunt.

After a moment Robert gives an impatient hand sign before he picks up his wine goblet and Sansa is startled when the servant moves back between her legs. “Hands or mouth?” he asks, but he’s not speaking to her.

“Just get her ready quickly,” Robert answers.

The servant looks up at her as his hands move up her thighs with a smirk. And then he dips his head and his mouth is on her, lips and tongue and teeth sucking and licking against her cunt. His lips find her nub and attach themselves to it, his tongue swirling against her clit when he slowly pushes a finger inside of her and Sansa screams.

She can hear the king laughing and the servant’s snort of amusement resonates against her cunt when he pushes a second finger inside and starts pumping them in and out.

Sansa cannot believe this is happening, here in her childhood home, with her parents’ consent – a king watching as his servant uses his fingers and tongue to fuck the lord’s daughter, the sound of his laughter almost drowning out the obscene sounds of the fingers slurping against her wetness but not enough to drown out her moans and gasps.

His tongue dips inside of her, in and out, and the pressure keeps building like fire coursing through her blood. He licks her then, all the way up to her bundle of nerves, as he pushes three and then four fingers inside.

Soon, the tension building inside of her explodes and her whole body recoils from the force of it. She drops down on the bed and feels the servant move from between her legs and there’s a drowsiness that threatens to engulf her but it doesn’t last.

Something pushes her legs further apart and Sansa opens her eyes to see the king standing where the servant has just left. His eyes are riveted on her teats just as his hands are undoing the laces of his breeches. Sansa startles when he pushes them down to reveal his cock, hard and leaking at the tip. His hands grab her thighs to push them further apart and she whispers ‘no’ but she knows there’s no stopping this. His hands move to her hips to pull her down the bed and she feels the tip of him nudging against her sensitive folds before he pushes forward and enters her.

Robert isn’t gentle, not even in consideration of her maidenhead. He thrusts inside of her and doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt, his upper body falling on top of hers, and Sansa feels oddly grateful to the servant for pushing four fingers inside of her just moments ago. After a moment Robert looks up at her with a smirk before he lets his tongue sneak out to lick her nipple. Again, it feels obscene, something he undoubtedly does to the whores he’s used to, only the tip of his tongue licking against her hardened peak, just as his hips snap against hers and Sansa shudders.

He seems to like it. He pulls almost all the way out before he thrusts brutally back inside. Her body is pushed up the bed with the force of his thrusts and he uses his meaty hands to hold her hips and pull her back down. Her teats bounce with the movement and he laughs every time it happens before he dips his head forward to let his tongue lick her nipples again.

She doesn’t want to, really, but the tension begins to build again in her belly and she finds she cannot stifle her moans and groans, which seems to amuse the king greatly. “Quite the little whore isn’t she?” he grunts, and the servant’s voice reminds Sansa suddenly that he is still in the room, watching as the king fucks her.

“She is, Your Grace.” He moves to the side and suddenly he’s in Sansa’s field of vision, a dark smirk on his lips as he enjoys the view. “Her teats bounce like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

The king’s rhythm starts to falter. He pumps inside of her one, two, three times and then he stills deep inside of her, a hoarse groan escaping his lips as he spills inside of her.

He drops down on her for a moment before he moves again and Sansa hisses as she feels his cock slip from inside of her. The tension in her belly is still raging and for a fleeting moment she considers grabbing his hand and pushing it back between her legs to get her there. Or the servant’s hand if he wants to, just as long as he pushes his fingers deep inside…

She’s horrified when she realizes her thoughts and even more so when the king speaks again and she realizes the contentment filling her chest once his words register in her mind.

“Your turn now,” he says to the servant as he tucks himself inside his breeches, “and don’t forget to spill inside her cunt. Wouldn’t want her to claim the bastard’s mine if she gets with child.”

She has a moment of clarity, she tells herself later, when she’s determined to refuse this and tries to scramble up the bed. But the servant is quick and much stronger than she is, grabbing her ankles to pull her down and roughly spreading her legs back open. His rough breeches are quickly pulled down from his hips and she looks to his cock before her eyes fly back to his. His smirk is dark now and Sansa recognizes him then. Not one of the king’s servants as she had thought, but one of her own, one of her father’s servants, someone she will have to see daily and wonder if he’s told any of the others about this, happily preparing to rut between his lord’s daughter’s legs and spill his seed inside of her.

She makes a feeble attempt to push him away just as he grabs his cock and lines it with her slit and plunges inside. She screams, and she’s certain she will tell herself later that it was out of pain and humiliation, but she’s also certain neither men is fooled. The king has moved towards the door, chuckling as he watches her being fucked and the servant slows down somewhat as the king bends over to place a kiss against each of her teats in parting. When he pulls back he’s still grinning and Sansa keeps her eyes on his retreating back as he pulls open the door and walks out.

The servant leans down over her then, his mouth close to her chest as he lets his tongue lick over her nipples in a mimic of what the king had done. She turns to look at him, wants to tell him – order him – to get off of her but he cuts her off before she can get any words out.

“Let’s get going shall we? We have a bastard to make and I can’t wait to spill inside a high born cunt.”

He picks up his pace then, his hands grabbing her teats and kneading them just as his hips snap against hers more and more forcefully. She’ll be sore once he’s done, of that much she’s sure, but the tension is growing again and she likes how his rough fingers feel against her nipples, finds herself tilting her hips towards his when he plunges back inside, and roughly whispering _more_. He seems to take mercy and pushes a hand down, his thumb rubbing against her clit and Sansa screams when she peaks.

She’s still shaking when he finally stutters to a halt, pushes himself all the way in and spills inside of her.


End file.
